


A Bulging Grabbag

by smallpudge



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Force-Feeding, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallpudge/pseuds/smallpudge
Summary: collection of weight gain kink fic.  crossposted from tumblr.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Okumura Haru/Persona 5 Protagonist, Okumura Haru/Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	1. Feeding the Boyfriend [shuake]

“It looks as though I’ve caught a Phantom Thief,” Akechi said with a smirk as Joker struggled futilely in his seat. With his hands tied behind him to the back of the chair, the raven-haired boy wasn’t going anywhere. “Though, you did make it rather easy. You were just too tempted to resist, weren’t you?”

He picked a heavy bag up off the table and waved it under Joker’s nose, amused by how his rival scoffed and turned his head aside. As though he could hide his interest. “Don’t be so coy. We both know you’re a glutton. How else could you get so fat?” he asked. Joker had been divested of his coat, and the rope holding him in the chair sat underneath his fat moobs, propping them up and making it very obvious how flabby they were in the thin vest he wore. Akechi cupped one in his left hand, then smacked the great beast of a belly beneath it, which was already pushing up the hem of Joker’s vest just from sitting down. He’d outgrown it again. Akechi didn’t really mind that, but it did ruin the illusion somewhat, and he shifted focus back to Joker’s defiantly set chins. “Well, since you’ve traded your freedom for these, I suppose it’s only right I let you eat all of them, isn’t it?”

The look in Joker’s eyes was full of both eagerness and trepidation as he looked at the bag. “All of them?”

“Ten Big Bang Burgers,” Akechi said as he took each burger out of the bag, placing them in a row for his captive to take in the feast he was about to be subjected to. “I hope that’s enough for your great gut. Or might it be too much? No, that couldn’t possibly be. Well, if it is, you know how to beg for mercy, don’t you?”

“Just get on with it,” Joker told him, but the look in his eyes was certain. Good. He remembered the safe word.

“Being so defiant will only ruin you in the end,” Akechi said lightly, shucking the wrapper off of the first burger. “Well, then…bon appetit.”

Joker resisted a small bit, but it didn’t take long for him to open his mouth and let Akechi cram the burger into his mouth. After all, this was just a play, an amusement for both of them. Outside of token resistance, he ate the first burger quickly, with the second soon following. That would have been quite grease enough for the whole day for Akechi, personally, but for Joker, it was an average meal. He was such a well-trained hog that he even gave a small groan of pleasure as Akechi forced the third burger into his mouth. His chewing started to slow, though, and Akechi put down the half-eaten burger, picking up the first soda from the six-pack he’d picked up from the konbini. Joker was still taking his sweet time swallowing down the burger in his mouth as Akechi pressed the bottle to his lips, but he got the hint. Soon enough, he gulped and opened his mouth, letting Akechi drain the bottle into his mouth as he chugged the sweet liquid. His chubby cheeks puffed out afterward as he tried to hold in a burp, but with all the carbonation in him, the sound still erupted from him loud and clear. Akechi palmed the roll under Joker’s belly button, curled his fingers around the thick underhang before pressing on it to prompt more burps from his prize pig. Joker might be a daring thief in the “Metaverse” and his true nature that of a glutton, but he tried hard to pass himself off as a polite young man in day-to-day life, and Akechi could see those plump cheeks starting to pink.

“Are you embarrassed?” Akechi asked. “There’s no need. It’s just you and me…though, honestly, it’s too late to hide what a piggy you are. Your pants are so tight, I’m amazed you haven’t broken them. They must be a very durable brand.”

“They are…” Joker broke character a bit as he shifted slightly, the leather of those same pants creaking. “Can you open them?”

Akechi reached under Joker’s gut again, thumbing the button at the waistband and then giving that same waistband a light tug. Joker’s fat gut wobbled with the motion. “Hmmm… I don’t see a need to,” Akechi said with a smile, staying in character. If it were really painful, Joker would make it clear. Discomfort, though–well, Akechi liked seeing him squirm a little. “You’ve made such an excellent start of eating yourself out of them, I’d like you to finish the job.” And he picked up the half-eaten burger again, ready to make his boyfriend eat more.

Joker took longer than Akechi had expected to break free of his pants. Not for lack of trying: refreshed from his drink, he gobbled the remains of the third burger eagerly and set a steady pace as he started his fourth. And Akechi helped by hiking the waistband up as high as possible, making sure it was pulled taut around every bit of blubber. But Joker’s occasional grunts were becoming more vexed, and he kept fidgeting, breathing in deep while chewing to expand his belly, flexing his legs as though he were hoping to stretch the fabric thin or something.

Which he did. Months of being rubbed between two thundering thighs meant the inner seam was quite worn, tearing it up and down the entire length of his right leg in one movement. Joker looked both relieved and annoyed as it came apart, and Akechi chuckled as he placed a hand on the inside of the meaty thigh, rubbing his thumb over the plump flesh, momentarily reddened from friction.

“Not quite your intended goal, was it?” he murmured. "But you’re getting so big. I’m certain if you keep going, you’ll burst from these pant’s confines completely. Unless, of course, you burst yourself first.“

"I’m nowhere near my limit,” Joker huffed irritably.

“That’s what I like to hear.” And it was true that Joker had quite the appetite. How else would he have put all the pounds of soft fat on himself so quickly? Akechi certainly contributed, yes, taking Joker to restaurants, and stuffing his gluttonous pig in amusements like this, but all it had taken was the gift of a cooking class for Joker to start plumping himself up. As soon as he was taught the basics, Joker went wild with recipes for rich, heavy comfort foods…even though he made sure to cook healthier selections for Akechi, the once detective had occasionally found his own clothes becoming tight with a few extra kilos, having to suck in his belly to button his trousers before he reined in his diet. Joker had a gift for anything he put his mind to, including cooking. It could be vexing at times. If Akechi allowed himself to eat as much as he wanted of Joker’s cooking, well, he probably wouldn’t have half the gut or ass Joker had, one big enough to sag over the captive’s upper thighs, and the other overflowing the chair he was tied to, but even half that would still be much fatter than Akechi wanted to be. Even if he was no longer in the public eye, hadn’t been for quite some time, he still had that impulse to make himself perfect in presentation. (Though sometimes, he had the urge to–to tell Joker to try to make him fat, and then see–if he’d notice extra butter and oil in his food or slightly bigger servings, or if he’d excuse the first five kilos as winter weight–if it were a competition between the two of them, if he could entice Joker to try to wreck his figure, how fat would he get before his better judgment kicked in and he called the game to a halt? But that was a temptation he had yet to act on.)

Joker had never had the same compulsions about appearance, as was obvious by the obese figure he’d let himself bloat into. And by the mess he was letting Akechi make on his face, ketchup and crumbs splashed on the normally neat eater’s face. But while Joker allowed himself to get dirty, he didn’t actually enjoy it. Neither did Akechi, as much as he loved the activity that led to the mess–stuffing his boyfriend fatter and fatter. After Joker finished his fifth burger, Akechi used his thumb to push some crumbs back toward Joker’s lips so he could eat them. "Mustn’t waste calories.“ What wasn’t easily cleaned up that way was wiped up with a napkin.

Joker’s breathing was growing heavier with his fullness, large sighs chasing burps that were becoming more and more frequent as he grew too stuffed to attempt stifling them. His eyes started glazing over on the seventh burger, and Akechi stopped pushing the food at him but held it steady, rubbing circles into his hog’s gut to try to ease all the gas out. Joker burped quietly four times. The fifth was long, and loud, and he looked a bit flustered after it, as though he’d surprised himself, but his eyes were alert again, and that was a good enough signal for Akechi to resume. Joker’s chewing was becoming mechanical now, but he still wanted to eat. A true glutton.

His pants finally gave up the ghost midway through the eighth burger, the button pinging against Akechi’s thigh before skittering away. Joker’s pants immediately unzipped themselves, the waistband crumpling under two rolls of fat breaking free.

Joker let out a sigh of relief. Akechi smirked. "So you did manage to eat yourself out of them,” he said. "But you’re not done yet."

Two more burgers, and one more bottle of soda from the six-pack. One of the biggest downsides of how fat Joker had grown was that stuffing him didn’t make the same dramatic difference in his physique as it had roughly two years and a hundred kilos ago, but Akechi’s trained eye could pick out the swell, and his hand on Joker’s gut could feel the stuffed firmness beneath all the soft flab. Plus, Joker’s shallow breaths made it clear he felt like a beached whale. Even after Akechi untied his hands, he made no move to get up. "Do you want me to rub your stomach?” Akechi asked.

“Please.”

“Then waddle your way to bed. I’ll take care of you there.”

Oh, he knew Joker would likely fall asleep on him once they were in bed. If they did have any sex, Akechi would be doing all the work, as becoming so fat had lowered Joker’s stamina even when he wasn’t stuffed like a turkey. But Akechi rather enjoyed that, just as he enjoyed how laboriously Joker hefted himself to stand before placing a hand on his overfull stomach and trundling to bed that way, his plump love handles jiggling in waves above his ruined pants. Joker might have fattened up a bit on his own, given his inner glutton, but the fact that his gut split into rolls, that his walk had widened with his thighs pushing each other apart–Akechi took great pride in that. He’d helped a piglet turn into a hog.


	2. Haru Takes a Break [mutual wg]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stressful work week, Haru makes plans with her boyfriend.

Another week of stressful meetings. Taking control of Father’s business to turn it toward a more benevolent path was difficult. Though some executives were already on board with that, Haru found too many were resistant to the thought of sacrificing any profit for something so small as morality. By Friday she felt thoroughly stressed out and was ready for a little escape.  
  
It started with shedding her business suit the instant she was alone in her penthouse. She’d gotten the suit in some of the same colors as her old Phantom Thief outfit, mulberry pants and a matching jacket with gleaming buttons over a black silk top. Simple, refined… a little tight, nowadays, though she still loved to wear it. The clothes made her feel stronger with the reminder of her rebellious spirit.  
  
Well, she was going to be rebelling in a different way this evening. Not against the business world, but against her upbringing. She tapped out a message on her phone and began to unbutton the jacket, smiling to herself when the phone’s vibration told her a response had come. And so quickly!  
  
Peeling off her shirt made her feel even better, as her breasts were no longer constrained quite so tightly. Her bra still lifted them up and pushed them together to form a deep cleavage, but she could breathe a little more easily already. She’d be even more comfortable once her girdle came off.  
  
Haru had used shapewear for a few years now. She’d first worn a girdle when her ex-fiance Sugimura had become unbearable in needling her about her weight. How dare she deny him a stick-thin teen fiancee, and so forth and so on, and he would drop in at the most unexpected times, so she’d started wearing a girdle even when gardening…not entirely a healthy practice, and something that had greatly upset her current fiance when he found out. She made sure now to let herself breathe freely when she was doing anything strenuous, like lifting 30kg of fertilizer. But the only thing boardroom meetings strained was her patience, and she liked the perfect posture the girdle pressed her into, as well as how it gave the illusion of a, if not quite slim, at least shapely figure…just as much as she liked to let herself slouch as soon as she rolled it down, and watch her belly flop out past her breasts, hanging over her panties. She liked the idea of concealment. It reminded her of Milady’s skirt, hiding dozens and dozens of weapons. Sadly, her stomach wasn’t dangerous to anything—except whatever food she laid eyes on, when she was in a mood like today’s.  
  
She continued peeling the girdle off, squirming her hips free, as she leaned over the phone to check the response. Ah, he’d already found a new restaurant. He was so thoughtful! Or perhaps he was in a hungry mood himself, and the thought made Haru smirk. Did she want to compete with him, and see which of them could eat more? Perhaps it’d be nice to have him pamper her and feed her, forkful by forkful. Or did she want to eat her fill and then egg him into stuffing himself until he was fit to burst? He was always so indulgent of her whims on the weekend, understanding of the stress she went through during the workweek.  
  
She finished changing and headed out on food to catch a train for the restaurant. No one looked her way; with her make-up removed, and having donned a medium-length wig and pink sweatshirt and sweatpants, she looked quite different from her usual appearance, and rather plain. She still got looks for her impressive chest, but then men noted the chubby belly underneath it, and most lost interest.  
  
Her fiance, on the other hand, loved both those parts of her—and everything else, including her fondness for secrecy. “Hello, my lovely Hime,” he said to her at the restaurant entrance, using one of his many pet names for her. She was in disguise, after all. He hugged her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, a perfect gentleman. Then he gently squeezed some of the flesh at her hip. “Hmm, you really have had a bad week. You’ve been growing without me, haven’t you?”  
  
He said that as if his belly wasn’t pressing into her, round as a ball and heavy even when it was empty now. Haru pouted—and then she caught a whiff of the Brazilian cuisine the restaurant served, and her own belly growled. Her mind was made up in a flash. “And if I have?” she said, taking on an imperious tone. “I’m still starving. You’d better take good care of me.”  
  
Ren’s eyes lit up at the demand, a smirk growing on his round face. “As my Empress commands,” he answered. “The night won’t end until you’re fully satisfied.”


	3. Breakfast in Bed [shuryuharu, akira wg]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira enjoys getting breakfast in bed, maybe a little too much.
> 
> (Shuryuharu sounds like some kind of tongue twist challenge almost...it's Akira/Ryuji/Haru for anyone unclear. bc i like poly)

Breakfast in bed starts because Akira’s just not a morning person. After Ryuji comes back from his early morning run, he and Haru make breakfast together, and after enough times of experiencing Akira being grumpy at being told to wake up to eat, Haru suggests they bring breakfast to him and let the smell wake him up. It’s pretty cute the first time, watching him sniff the air and crack an eye open, looking completely baffled. It’s cute most days, really, even after he gets used to the routine enough to not look confused. Haru and Ryuji get back in bed with their own breakfasts, and they all eat together. Akira usually doesn’t say much of anything until he’s cleared his plate, and he’s a lot less grumpy with some food in him, so it seems like a clear victory for having a peaceful meal together before they all split up for their jobs.

Sometimes Ryuji makes an omurice for each person while Haru focuses on brewing the coffee. Sometimes they get a little more involved and make a traditional Japanese breakfast with several dishes: rice, grilled fish, miso soup, pickled salads, stuff like that. Sometimes Haru decides she wants to do a western-style breakfast, making a stack of fluffy pancakes while Ryuji focuses on the sausage or bacon. They make their plates, and Ryuji makes a plate for Akira that looks about the same as his (okay, maybe Ryuji’s has a little more meat, but that’s because he works out and Akira doesn’t, he needs the protein), and then they join Akira back in bed and help him ease into the world of the living.

* * *

Maybe it’s because Akira doesn’t do morning runs. Or maybe it’s because being a politician’s aide is largely a desk job. But Ryuji’s waking up one morning, nuzzling up next to his two loves before he launches himself out of bed for his run, when his hand brushes against Akira’s side under the blankets and he realizes his partner in crime and life is starting to get just a little bit of love handles.

Not that Ryuji minds love handles--Haru has always had the start of them, being vigorously opposed to the mere concept of dieting after dealing with her once fiance, and Ryuji loves how soft she is when she’s beneath him while they’re making love. And when she’s on top of him, too. Love handles have never been bad.

Ryuji’s got a lot of time to think on his morning runs, though the exercise is also calming enough for him that his thoughts never get too complicated. They go at a steady pace: Akira’s getting some love handles. Haru’s always had small ones. Ryuji likes Haru’s love handles. He’s pretty sure he’ll like Akira’s too. It’s kind of funny. Haru and Akira have always had fluffy hair. What if they had fluffy bodies to match? Though Ryuji doesn’t think Haru’s put on any weight in a while. Akira, on the other hand...

When Ryuji makes omurice that morning, one ends up bigger than the other two. For a second, Ryuji thinks about claiming it for his own.

Then he slides it onto Akira’s plate.

* * *

There’s an interesting contrast between Ryuji and Akira. Ryuji is athletic, in his best shape since finishing physical therapy.

Haru thinks Akira is in his best shape, too, but she’s well aware popular perception would disagree. Akira--he isn’t lazy, not at all, but he’s never been too enthusiastic for exercise outside of changing hearts, and now that he tries to sway public opinion through speeches and campaigns instead of running around the metaverse, he isn’t getting as much. And like her, he loves food.

She pulls the blanket off of him one morning while Ryuji is out running to admire her love. If Ryuji is the picture of athletic fitness, Akira is the image of relaxed content, softened all over from his Phantom Thief days, from the beginnings of a second chin to the small pot belly that rises and falls with his breath to the way his boxers are starting to look a little filled out--

And then he grumbles and yanks the blanket back over himself, and Haru can’t help but giggle. One of her boys is a morning person now that he’s got his running habits back. The other boy is grumpy until he has food in him.

Haru makes sure to put a little extra on his plate that morning. To help bring his spirits up, of course.

* * *

Akira loves not having to get out of bed for breakfast. He’s never quite awake for the first twenty minutes or so and while he always tried to keep any snappish remarks to himself, he’s grateful for Haru and Ryuji understanding he didn’t want to talk or do anything until he was fully awake and letting it be a habit to just eat instead. He’s taken over dinner most evenings as a way to try and keep the meal prep even, though often one or both will help out. It’s a good arrangement.

The problem is, he thinks their tradition is making him a bit fat.

No, not a bit.

He’s plain old fat.

It’s not like it snuck up on him, really. He knew exactly what had happened the first time his clothes started getting tight. And he wasn’t really concerned, and didn’t think the others would care too much either. Haru was a little soft around the middle too, after all. He’d bought some new clothes, and Haru and Ryuji had never said anything, and that had been that.

But now his clothes are getting tight again. Now when he climbs stairs he can feel his gut bouncing a little, the waistband of his pants cutting into it. Sometimes he gets out of breath. His ass feels like it’s straining the seat of his pants every time he sits down or bends over. He’s soft, soft like a stick of melting butter. In bed, with only his boxers on, he can’t help taking full notice of the soft ball of flesh starting to cover his lap, completely obscuring his crotch. He peeks over at Haru, eating peacefully, the slightest potbelly showing in her nightgown. She isn’t fat like he is--she isn’t fat at all, just nicely chubby.

He glances over at Ryuji, who’s already gone running like the sports nut he is and is showered and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

The comparison is too depressing to even be made.

In a break from his usual habit, Akira puts his plate down on the side table and speaks before he’s done eating: “I’m going on a diet.”

Both Haru and Ryuji look startled, which maybe is to be expected when he’s been overindulging so much. “Uh, okay,” Ryuji says. He’s grown since he was a teenager because he swallows his mouthful of bacon before saying that. (Ryuji talking with his mouth full had been a pet peeve for both Haru and Akira.)

“So don’t make me anything for breakfast tomorrow.” Akira’s already hating it. It means no more breakfast in bed. No more just getting to be with them because they’ll be eating their own good food and he knows he’ll get even crankier than his usual morning funk if he can smell food he can’t eat. But it’ll be worth it. Probably.

Ugh, he can’t back out of it already. He has to show some kind of self-control.

Haru and Ryuji exchange a worried look, and it’s Haru who speaks gently: “Akira, you don’t seem happy about this, so why do you want to diet?”

“Because you guys deserve a partner who isn’t a fatass,” Akira says caustically. He’s definitely feeling snappy. It’s better if he just snaps at himself.

Except of course it makes Ryuji and Haru feel like they have to be nice: “Dude, you’re not a fatass.” “Akira, I don’t mind that you’ve gained a little weight.”

Akira shakes his gut once with his hands. “This isn’t a little.” It’s still wobbling, which just makes him feel worse. “I’m a fatass. Stop sugarcoating.” His partners are two of the sweetest people he knows, and right now he cannot deal with that.

Haru and Ryuji exchange looks again. Though this time Akira can’t parse the look on their faces. It’s too early for this. He just wants to finish his breakfast-- _no put the plate back down, this is how you got fat._

Ugggghhhh.

“Okay, so, you’re gonna be mad,” Ryuji starts, which is never a great way to start, and Akira’s expecting the next words to be at best _yeah, I already realized you were getting to be a fatass so I looked up diets for you to try_ , and at worst, _yeah, okay, let’s break up_ , “But it’s kinda my fault you’re a little fat now because I’ve been putting extra food on your plate ‘cause I think you’re cute chubby.”

On the best-worst scale of Akira’s catastrophizing that lands squarely on the point of ‘what the fuck?’, and he’s still trying to process what he heard when Haru looks at Ryuji and says “Oh! You too?”

What.

“What the fuck, guys?” Akira grabs his coffee. He is not awake enough for this.

“Well, I did see you were getting a tiny bit chubby, and I thought you carried the weight well,” Haru says. “So...I might have been putting extra on your plate, and I thought Ryuji was following my lead, but I guess he had the same opinion, too.”

“I mean, I like you skinny too, but...yeah. I like you like this, too,” Ryuji tells Akira. “You got those love handles like Haru.”

Akira knows his love handles are much bigger than Haru’s at this point. “You don’t touch me there.”

Ryuji looks like a kicked dog. “I mean, I did a couple times, but you always tensed up, so I thought you hated it. I dunno.”

...Oh. On second thought, Akira can believe that. There’s definitely been a few moments with both Ryuji and Haru in bed when Akira panicked, thinking they were suddenly going to realize how big he was getting and say something about it.

“Sorry, man. I shoulda thought to ask you about it.”

“...It’s fine,” Akira says. Really, he should have realized the fact that Haru and Ryuji hadn’t said anything meant they were fine with it. Ryuji, in particular, since he tends to just blurt out what he's thinking.

...He leans over, his gut creasing into two folds as he grabs his half-eaten plate, and resumes eating.

“Oh, Akira, if you don’t like your weight, don’t let us stop you from dieting,” Haru assures him. “You’re handsome skinny or fat, and we want you to be happy.” Ryuji nodded to back her up.

Akira takes a few more bites before answering her. “I don’t know how I actually feel about it,” he says. “I’ll think about it after I’m done eating. But I do need to get new clothes.”

...And really, when he thinks about it again, his willingness to size up again instead of waiting to try and lose weight first is probably an answer by itself.


	4. Satiation [p5r, OMNI wg, Yusuke focus]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...ok omni just means mutual but REALLY
> 
> Maruki's happy world may have a few kinks in it. He's not sure.

The perfect world was not without its kinks at times. Yusuke Kitagawa was not… a problem, no, Maruki would never describe him that way. And what was going on wasn’t exactly a problem, per se–it was an expression of desire that didn’t harm anyone. So it couldn’t be a problem, or else Maruki’s thesis might have been flawed from the start, and he’d never accept that.

Maybe he’d say it was unexpected, though in hindsight it seemed blindingly obvious. Give a starving artist the financial support he needed to buy both paint supplies and food, and said artist would be happy to paint and eat.

And eat.

And eat while painting, his left hand holding a fruit plucked from the bowl he was painting a still life of with the right hand, or his teeth busily crunching on jagariko as he sketched out a new idea. He stuffed himself full at mealtimes, and while Madarame lightly chided him for not savoring the food once, the old man’s cognition had been tweaked so that he would never deprive a student and damage their happiness again.

When Maruki first observed the excesses, he mulled over the issue for a good while, but ultimately dismissed it. Of course Kitagawa-kun would seek to indulge; the memories of his old life of scarcity might have been buried deep in his subconscious, but they hadn’t been erased entirely. Time would have to do the job there. A little time to fully acclimate to his new life of abundance and Kitagawa-kun would settle down. He could stand to gain a little weight, anyway. In the meantime, Maruki had millions of other people’s happiness to see to. And that kept him busy, for a good bit of time actually. Sometimes the tentacles stretching through the people’s collective subconscious would brush up on Yusuke, and Maruki would note offhandedly that he was still busy creating art, still happy, all well and good, but it was months before Maruki happened to be doing a more thorough check on Akira’s situation at the same time Yusuke visited Leblanc and actually saw, through Akira’s eyes, his physical condition.

Yusuke had gained more than a little weight. Even with his oversized shirt it was hard to miss the chubby belly shifting under the fabric as he maneuvered onto a stool. His face had softened. There was the start of a double chin. He spoke to Akira excitedly about his current project, but it was punctuated frequently by generous spoonfuls of the curry and rice Akira had set before him. And then his spoon scraped against the plate, and he stopped talking to look down at it with a flash of forlornness in his eyes, but Akira laughed gently and set another large plate in front of him. Yusuke lit up again and seemed to forget what he had been talking about as he wolfed down the new plate.

Maruki was a little concerned to see that Yusuke was apparently still overeating long past when he’d thought the novelty would have worn off, and he quickly reached out to Yusuke’s mind. Was he overeating out of distress, had Maruki overlooked something? But no, the feeling he gleaned from Yusuke was nothing but bliss. Madarame was still treating him well, his friendships were stable, and his art projects were progressing smoothly. He just…wanted to eat. And Akira was apparently of a mind to indulge him.

Which wasn’t wrong, exactly, not as a one-off event or occasional indulgence, it was just that if this habit of overeating didn’t taper off, it could be unhealthy for Yusuke at some point. Maruki tried to give Yusuke’s thoughts a gentle nudge: he was full. It was time to stop.

The artist did not slow down at all.

He tried Akira next, inserting thoughts about Yusuke being above average weight and certainly exhibiting above average appetite. Not that Maruki wanted Akira to shame his friend, merely to show some friendly concern.

Akira ladled another plateful of curry from the pot and set it before his friend.

…The trouble with former Persona users was that even now their cognitions could be quite stubborn. But Maruki supposed it was endearing that Akira was so firmly invested in his friend’s happiness, even if it was a slightly unusual one.

It became less endearing and more baffling with each new friend Maruki found doing the same. Ann Takamaki inviting Yusuke out for crepes and gleefully ordering the double chocolate and strawberry with him. Ryuji Sakamoto meeting with the artist at ramen shops to order a bowl or two (or quite often, three). Futaba Sakura sharing a stash of cheap convenience snacks. Haru Okumura giving him a number of Big Bang Burger coupons, or even inviting him to the Wilton Buffet, where he would eat like a ravenous–well. A ravenous fox. Yoshizawa coming over to model poses for him, and bringing two huge bento boxes, one for each of them to eat on break.

And Yusuke’s friends began to overindulge as well. Ann Takamaki had already had a weakness for sweets, and Yusuke’s voraciousness seemed to convince her there was no harm in indulging it: she was rapidly swelling, her photoshoots quickly switching to plus-sized magazines as she jiggled every time she switched poses. Haru and Akira at first focused solely on providing Yusuke the food he desired, but both of them were foodies in their own right and couldn’t help eating some extra when they were so often around tempting dishes. Haru’s pink sweater became tight around her swollen middle, and Akira gained a second chin as Yusuke’s grew thicker and his man breasts became more prominent. Futaba became lazier again, always gaming in her room, developing a soft potbelly and losing what little tone she’d had. Ryuji and Kasumi fared better, both athletes, but they were starting to grow soft as well. Maruki was still scratching his head over what to do in regards to their desires in competitive sports when he realized a new shocking event:

All of Tokyo was starting to become fat. He’d realized, of course, that Yusuke’s eating habits was affecting all of his friends, even the ones who didn’t habitually eat with him–Goro Akechi and Morgana on the receiving ends of Akira’s ever more generous portions, and Makoto Niijima seeming to be influenced by the other girls–but desires for more food, less work, more plus-sized clothes were cropping up more and more. This was a large-scale shift in cognition.

And it was starting to affect him. The last time Maruki broke away from the draw of the people’s thoughts and minds, he’d noticed the start of a potbelly. Which didn’t make sense. He didn’t eat to indulge. He only ate when he got hungry. It didn’t make sense…

Until he went back to patient zero, Yusuke Kitagawa, and looked though everything tied to him. Including the college student’s art portfolio.

All his recent artwork was related to food or eating. Crepes oozing with cream, ramen glistening with oil and topped with colorful seasonings, rich curry depicted so lovingly you could taste the flavor, lovers feeding each other with tenderness, explosive collages of the massive variety of convenience store offerings: it could not be any more obvious that Yusuke Kitagawa was obsessed with food, even now, months after it had become more readily available to him. And as an up-and-coming artist whose paintings burst with desire, he was fueling the populace to crave food more and more, urges which Maruki had been enabling without scrutinizing too closely until now.

Maruki thought hard about the situation. It…this wasn’t a problem. It was just an expression of desire. There must be some way to gently correct it.

His stomach growled, and he rubbed at it before asking a shadow to fetch him food. Looking through all those paintings was making him hungry.

How bad would it be if all of Tokyo became fat?


End file.
